


Devil's Trill

by eyemeohmy



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Arkham (Video Games)
Genre: Batjokes, Multi, Original Sidecharacters, Unrequited Crush, Violence, or gen seriously flip a coin see which side you get
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 13:24:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6568051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyemeohmy/pseuds/eyemeohmy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Same song, different dance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Devil's Trill

**Author's Note:**

> This could qualify as gen, or one-sided Batjokes. I dunno; totally up to the reader, I suppose. The continuity is shaky, but I imagined it either for general comics or Arkham: Origins.
> 
> Many, _many_ thanks to my beta, Chaim, for all her hard work. Thumbs up, bro.

When Batman woke again, he was in a cell guarded by two nicely dressed men. It was small, almost cozy to an extent; Batman immediately knew he was in a house. The basement, most likely. He'd question why someone would keep a dungeon in their basement, but his own was equally... different.

The men had yet to notice Batman waking, rising from the floor silently. He remembered now: Batman had busted another meeting between two drug kingpins. The first got away, but the second--Svenn, a portly fifty-year old in a cardigan--stayed behind. He came with more than enough back-up; while Batman took down a few of his henchmen, the group eventually rushed him. The butt of a gun hit the back of his head, knocking him to the ground, dizzy and a little nauseous with pain.

Svenn walked over to the fallen hero, grinning smugly. "Good try, Batman, but not your best," he chortled. He broke away, speaking to his men in Norwegian, sending half of them off. "I've got so much work to do--even more now thanks to you screwing everything up," he spat, "so I'm afraid your death will have to wait a little longer."

Another blow to the head, and Batman was out cold.

Batman touched the back of his head. He could feel the lump growing beneath his cowl. But, for now, the pain would have to wait. He had work to do.

The guards lasted two minutes. They were taken out even before Batman managed to escape his cell. He had intended to use other methods, but the key was on the guard lying nearby. Not as flashy, but would make things quicker and easier.

Batman found his weapons on a table nearby, putting his utility belt back on. He left the basement, keeping an eye out for more guards. Just as he expected, this was someone's home--a nice, large manor house. Probably belonged to Svenn.

Batman came across one last guard, knocking him unconscious with a hard punch to the face. He made his way upstairs, into the first hallway. At the very end, a door was open, firelight pouring out into the corridor. Batman readied a batarang just in case, moving stealthily and quietly.

Indeed, Svenn was in his den, by himself. Dead, a knife sticking out the back of his neck, face planted in a pile of bloodied papers on his desk. Pen still gripped in one pale hand.

Batman frowned.

Svenn had enemies, especially for a drug lord; this didn't come as much of a surprise. But still, something felt off. Batman collected evidence and his own prints from the den as well as the knife before calling the cops. But his evidence yielded no results.

Still nothing strange, but that odd, queasy feeling of something being _wrong_ stuck with him for the next few days.

Things would become much clearer two weeks later.

\---

"Ah, Batman. Such a pity."

King Stag was a relatively new drug lord in Gotham. He derived his obligatory criminal title from the sterling silver stag head on his cane, and the fact he considered himself to be something of a "stag." A regular bachelor living the bachelor lifestyle, though he looked to be in his early forties. The first time Batman and the drug lord crossed paths ended badly for King Stag, resulting in a short stay at Arkham Asylum.

Now, released fresh from Arkham, the tables had turned in Stag's favor.

"To think you'd fall so easily," King Stag sneered, drumming fingers on his cane. "I must say, I expected more of you."

Batman was only half-listening to King Stag. He studied his surroundings, formulating a plan to make his escape. There were twenty bucks (Stag's name for his lackeys, not Batman's) surrounding him, all dressed alike in black suits and deer masks. Half had their guns trained on Batman, the rest on the five hostages bound and gagged in the center of the room.

"But I can't say I'll miss you much," King Stag continued rambling. For once, Batman was grateful. "I really don't understand why _certain people_ want to keep you around, and fight with you time and time again."

Batman managed to free a small batarang from his utility belt. The henchmen didn't seem to notice, quiet and standing in place, ready for orders to open fire. He started working it as quickly as possible against the ropes restraining him.

King Stag spread his arms, holding out his cane. "From your ashes I shall rise as the most fearsome man in Gotham! No one shall stand in my way! Not even that batshit insane Joker friend of yours."

"You don't need to do this, Stag," Batman said calmly. "You don't know what you're dealing with."

King Stag guffawed. "I'm not afraid of anyone. Not even you." He reached into his jacket, removing a .44 Magnum. "So, Batman..." He raised the gun, aiming point blank at the masked crusader's head. A little sneer played at King Stag's lips, his excitement bubbling over. "Any last wor--"

Batman jolted as one of the thugs to his right suddenly turned, shooting King Stag in the head. Blood and brain matter painted the floor, splattering a few unlucky, screaming hostages. Batman's heart sunk in his chest, aghast.

The nineteen remaining thugs were equally baffled. They all started shooting at the treacherous lackey, Batman diving to the ground to avoid the crossfire. However, the assassin was limber, and obviously more seasoned than his ex-colleagues. Flipping, rolling, dodging the bullets in between firing back and killing five men.

To Batman's surprise, the thug was making his way over to him.

The thug, however, did not shoot him. He whipped out a knife, cutting away some of the rope. Just enough for Batman to free himself. "Someone misses you," he whispered, deep voice muffled behind his mask. He stood, shot down another lackey, and took off.

Batman quickly went into action. His top priority was the hostages' safety--he was forced to let the thug escape. It didn't take long to incapacitate the remaining men; two others had taken off once Batman was freed. After they were securely tied up, he went to help the hostages.

Batman stopped, however, when he walked up beside King Stag. The man's eyes were wide, staring in permanent horror at the ceiling. Blood continued pouring from his fatal head wound. He then glanced around the room, at the bodies of the dead men the rogue had killed.

Batman closed his eyes, shook his head; more lives, pointlessly wasted.

The police arrived fifteen minutes later. Batman observed from the shadows on a building's rooftop across the street. The frightened men and women were helped out of the building, bodies cloaked in white sheets carried into vans. He watched a cop carrying King Stag's cane in a large evidence bag, spotting a little blood splashed across the deer's head.

_Someone misses you._

Batman blinked. In all the excitement, he'd almost forgotten. The thug had stuffed something in his utility belt. He looked down--sure enough, there it was.

Batman removed the card, and turned it over.

\---

Mia fidgeted nervously inside the elevator, shifting from one foot to the other. She'd been staring at the ground for the past five minutes now, sweat beading her forehead, a slight tremor in her hands. Brand new sneakers. Pure white and clean--open invitations for vomit, blood, and urine. Very cheap, but very comfortable. The soles were rubber, and squeaked quietly with each shift of weight.

"Rodriguez."

Mia shot up her head, wide eyes immediately finding Batman's face. He was staring at her, his blackened eyes slits. 

"Quit it," the security guard growled from behind the vigilante.

Mia couldn't stop staring, jaw slightly agape. Batman looked away first, and she almost felt as if invisible restraints had been loosened around her. "Stah--oh." She immediately froze, standing perfectly still. The squeaking stopped, leaving just the eerie groaning of the elevator lurching further and further into Arkham Asylum's basement.

It was strange. Mia was a steady, levelheaded person; she wasn't prone to these sudden anxiety attacks. It was why she took this job at Arkham. Sure, occasionally she was nervous when dealing with patients--especially the "rogues"--but any person would be. Didn't matter how strong they were; they could be made of steel, but this place would still chew them up and eventually spit them out. 

The job was practically a rotating door position.

Yet, when it came to Batman, he always managed to illicit this type of response. He was intimidating, sure; he was dangerous, sure. But there was something to be said when she feared him more than the patients she tended to. The regulars and seniors told Mia this was normal--Batman instilled fear in everyone, even the humdrum average civilians. It's what he wanted (she didn't quite believe that.)

The patients were all behind secure bars and thick layers of impenetrable, heavily reinforced plexiglas walls, most in straitjackets or restraints.

The Batman was not.

 _Something's different tonight_ , Mia thought to herself, bunching her work-issued scrubs in her manicured fingers. Batman was angry--but not the usual anger he carried in his imposing presence. It was a mixed cocktail; fury, and extreme curiosity.

The elevator finally came to a stop. Deep in the bowels of Arkham Asylum, this floor was reserved for their most dangerous, volatile prisoners. Half its cells were filled, which was... disquieting, to say the least. But better in here than out there, Mia figured.

Batman immediately took lead. The security guard didn't mind. Batman probably knew this place better than anyone else, after all. They followed in continued silence, passing titanium doors through dimly lit, wide halls. Compared to above, it was quiet down here, and any noises reverberated off the walls in thunderous echoes.

When they turned the corner, two orderlies stood there, waiting. They immediately stopped their benign chatter, faces turning to stone once they saw the Batman.

"Open the door," Batman ordered.

One orderly nodded. He ran his security card through the three slot scanners lining the door. He then entered a ten digit code on the control panel. The locks clicked loudly, opening one after the other--two, four, six, Mia wincing at each loud _thud-clap_.

Batman pushed the door open, the asylum employees watching in fear and awe. He shut it behind him immediately, and for a moment, no one knew exactly what to do.

The interrogation room was large and padded, a bright egg shell white from the secured lights above. One wall was composed of a one-way mirror, an observation room on its other side.

And sitting at the center of the room, the only person at ease in this whole facility.

It did not surprise Batman that the Joker had managed to wiggle out of his restraints. At least the handcuffs, and one anklecuff. The clown was a regular Houdini, really, if he wore greasepaint and killed his fans.

The Joker stopped his quiet mumbling, going rigid. He slowly sat up. His orange jumpsuit was starkly blinding against his pallor skin. He twisted around in his seat, looking up at Batman with feigned surprise, and a pinkie up his nose.

"Oh, Bats," the Joker sneered, wiggling his finger, "I wasn't expecting company. What a pleasant surprise!" He broke off into pearls of giggles.

Batman said nothing, but kept his gaze locked with the Joker's. It wasn't easy, even for him, even after all these years. When you stare into the abyss for long enough, after all...

Batman reached a hand for his utility belt. The Joker removed his finger from his nose, beaming from ear to ear. Literally. Though he wore no make-up, his lips were that natural cherry red (as natural as one could be after falling into a vat of deadly chemicals.) "Oh ho! Pulling out the guns already?" He slid a hand through his green tousled hair, fixing it. "Give me a minute to get ready. I always want to look my best when we bust each other up."

No weapon, however. Instead, Batman tossed out a single card, and it fell in front of Joker. The clown glanced down at it, blinking. A typical joker card with a grinning jester, only there was a scribble of a hot dog in its hand.

The Joker chortled. "I see you got my message," he said. He picked up the card, showing it to Batman. "But you forgot the hot dog. I figured I was clear enough in my indication." He sighed, bony shoulders drooping. "I wanted one of those street vendor hot dogs made of poodle meat, frozen and microwaved to perfection. I was going to have it with my special toilet hooch."

The security guard looked away from the observation window. "Does he have pruno? How did he make pruno?" he snapped.

Finally, the Batman spoke: "Your first thug didn't leave a message."

"I figured it wasn't necessary," the Joker replied, "you'd recognize my work. Sure, he was the scalpel--but I was the hand. Without the hand, the scalpel is useless."

"Then why the calling card now?"

"Apparently you needed that little extra push to swing by for a visit," Joker snorted. "And I wanted a hot dog."

"King Stag was low on the food chain, yet I recognized your signature in his work. You helped him. Why?"

The Joker giggled. "I might have overheard the little doe talking about his big plan to catch and kill the Batman once his vacation was over." He shrugged, pursing his lips. "Aside from a few holes I helped indirectly fix, it wasn't a bad idea. Certainly not a genius one, but you're no genius yourself, obvious by the fact I'm still alive and laughing." Joker shook his head, tsking. "It's simple math, Batsy. Sometimes I feel like I'm a tutor with a particularly dunce pupil. Do you know how many times I've had to throw myself off of buildings just to help you _solve the equation_?"

"Why did you stop King Stag, then?" Batman demanded. "The trap worked. He was about to kill me before your assassin stepped in."

"Same song, different dance, Batsy," the Joker sighed, swishing a hand. "Do you really think I'd let some bottom feeder like King Bambi take out my best friend?" He huffed. "Only friends are allowed to kill friends."

"Was he the same man who killed Svenn?"

"Maaaybe," the Joker hummed, rolling his eyes back. "I've got so much cannon fodder in my inventory, you can't really expect me to memorize all their names."

Batman narrowed his eyes. "How did you relay your messages? How did you pay them? You haven't had a single visitor during your two month incarceration."

Joker chuckled. "You know just as well as I, Batsy, that I've got eyes and ears everywhere. And a few noses. Plus I keep my appendix pickled in a jar in my--"

Batman glowered. "Give me their names, Joker."

"Why the long face, Bats?" Joker replied, tugging down the edges of his split mouth. "I mean, I saved you! Twice! You think you'd be a little more grate--"

"Several men died because of you," Batman scowled. "Men I could have saved."

"Worthless _garbage_!" the Joker snapped, spittle flying from his lips. "I took them out. By saving you, I've in turn become a hero myself." His cheeks flushed, back to grinning. "Oh, my! Could it be there's hope for me yet? Maybe after my redemption, I'll settle down, marry a nice girl, have a few little ankle-biters, get a puppy oh my goodness that's bile rising in my throat, give me a moment." Joker turned his head away, coughing bitterly.

"And what do you think might happen if you were to intervene with Poison Ivy's plans? Two Face's?" Batman asked. "You'll turn your greatest allies into your worst enemies. Even you recognize their potential."

"Appendixes, darling!" Joker cackled. "Vestigial organs. A part of you, but abso-lutely unnecessary to your body's functions. The peanut gallery can have their fun, but when it's all said and done, they'll fail. They always do." The Joker winked, sitting forward. "It's fate, you see. You and I 'til the bitter end, my friend. _Folie à deux_."

Batman felt that rush of anger run down his spine. Always that rush, reserved for the Joker, and the Joker only. He clenched his fists, rubber squeaking. He knew the Joker was always prepared; knew his influence remained on the streets of Gotham, even though he was locked up down here.

The Joker's grin turned from playful to malicious. "You're tensing up, Batsss. You always look so sexy when you go stiff and furious." He barked out laughter. "I must say, as much as I enjoy the ladies, if it was with you--well, I wouldn't mind breaking out the leather suit and cat o' nine tails."

"Enough!" Batman snarled.

The Joker raised his hands. "You do realize you're not helping my arousal by yelling at me, right? Gets my sadomasochism all a-tingle." He shivered comically.

"I've spoken to the warden. Extra security measures have been taken to ensure your complete severance of communication to the outside world."

The Joker scratched his cheek, eyes squinting. "Hmm. Guess I'll have to use carrier pigeons, then." He snapped his fingers, one eye widening. " _Ha_! Flying rats! You should change yourself to Pigeonman. That way you can fly over people and poop on th--"

"Give me the names of the men you hired, and how many you enlisted."

"You're a detective," the Joker said, "so de-tect."

Batman frowned, harder; somehow, he managed to do it.

Joker shrugged, tilting his head. "Just be thankful I cut out those cancerous little tumors before they could metastasize--" His bragging was interrupted abruptly by a fist socking him in the jaw. The clown flew backwards, rolling and tumbling back upright into a sit.

Mia leaped from her chair.

"Where're you goin'?" the guard asked.

Mia was alarmed by his nonchalant question. "Shouldn't we help him?"

The guard stared at her as if she were the most stupid person he'd ever met. "He's Batman," he said.

"No, not him," Mia scowled, "the Joker! Batman will kill him!"

Now she looked like a one-celled organism in the guard's eyes. " _He's Batman_ ," he pressed.

Joker's vision was painted with stars and static. He rubbed at his jaw, grinning widely. Blood trickled from a nostril, running down his lips. "Oh, I felt the love in that one!" he laughed. He jumped off the ground with his long, limber legs, throwing a punch.

Batman caught it, twisting Joker's arm behind his back. Something went _crunch_ , and the clown keened with heckling laughter.

"Is this even allowed!?" Mia cried, horrified.

The guard leaned back in his chair, enjoying the show. "Nah," he answered, "but, hey... It's the Joker."

Mia frowned. "But we--"

"Look, Rodriguez," the guard grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. The Joker was suddenly slammed against the window, held into place for a second before sliding free, spinning away from the masked vigilante. "You know the whole Irresistible Force Paradox?"

Mia scrunched her nose, thinking. "That is when an... unstoppable force meets an immovable object, right?"

"Yeah. And that's what yer seein' right now," the guard smirked, gesturing to the fighting duo. They almost looked to be dancing; this routine was practiced and expertly memorized. "You ever thought about getting in between an unstoppable force and immovable object? Things get messy. Guts and gore kinda messy."

Mia chewed her bottom lip. "I... suppose..."

The orderlies each let out an impressed "oooh" at Batman suckerpunching Joker in the gut. They watched, entranced, sharing a small bag of Funyuns.

"Tell me, Batsy," the Joker sneered, one eye swollen nearly shut, "have you ever heard of the Devil's Trill?" The response was another attempted punch, but the clown rolled away, his chains clicking and jingling. "Stop interrupting! You're being so very rude! Now, as I was saying--it's a sonata meant for a single violinist, notable for its extremely difficult, well, notes!" He grabbed the broken handcuffs from the floor, fixing them between his fingers like makeshift bronze knuckles.

Joker lunged, thrusting the cuffs into Batman's hip, barely missing a seam. An undercut to the chin threw him back, but Joker thrust himself forward again, using weight and momentum. He latched onto the masked man, wrestling him into a headlock from behind. Blood dripped onto Batman's shoulders, down his chest. "I'm the only one who can play it right, your strings. Anyone else falters, or ends up with broken fingers."

Batman pried the arm from his throat, using it to throw the Joker over his shoulders. Joker's back hit the ground loudly, grimacing. Batman quickly flipped the criminal onto his stomach, forcing his arms behind his back again.

"Oh, come now," the Joker whined, "I can't see your o-face from this position!"

Batcuffs locked around Joker's wrists, tightening. Batman rolled him over, pressing his forearm hard against the clown's throat. Joker gagged, but the smile remained plastered on his bloodied face.

"How many men do you have enlisted," Batman snarled. He eased up, just enough to keep the Joker in place without restricting his speech.

Joker coughed. "Come b-by tomorrow," he wheezed, "I'll t-tell you then."

Batman grabbed a handful of green hair with his free hand, raised Joker's head off the ground, and slammed it back down. Unlike the three walls, the ground was not padded. "How many?" he snapped.

Joker inhaled. "Fffffine," he grumbled in a low, guttural voice. He looked more disappointed than anything else. "Ten. Six men, four women." His brows furrowed angrily. "It's our time together right now, Bats--stop talking about _them_. You're spoiling the mood." He paused, the corners of his mouth quirking. "Ah, but everything's still good down south."

Batman let the Joker go, standing. "Their names."

"I told you, I told you, I don't know!" Joker huffed, rolling painfully onto his side. He wiggled his hands in the cuffs. "One started with a D, though. Diiiiane? No, no. Dana? ... Darwin." He growled against the floor. "God, I'd love to help you, Bats, I really would, but this place--it dulls the brain, you know? And yeeeet, at the same time, it keeps you sharp. But it's like working with a rusty knife. I mean, you can still stick it in someone's kidney just fine, yet--"

"We're finished here," Batman said. He looked to the window, nodding once.

"Oh, thank God," Mia breathed a sigh of relief, wiping the sweat from her face. She and the other employees left the room.

Joker watched as the door opened, security guard leading the orderlies inside. "You can't keep me buried down here forever, you know," he snickered, meeting Batman's eyes again, "I'm only here because I want to be. So many plans I've got in store for us, batty-boy, I just have to choose the right one before I make my move." His grin widened as he was yanked up onto his feet. "And then we'll have a _proper_ reunion."

Batman glowered from the doorway. "Not on my watch," he said darkly.

"You know how the saying goes!" Joker cackled. "Blind as a bat! Hahaha! Be _seein'_ you, Batsy!"

Batman left without another word. That laughter would follow him home, and well into his dreams. It always did.


End file.
